


Traditions

by oooopari



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, Exhibitionism, F/M, Fingering, Kinda, Original Character(s), Porn With Plot, Public Sex, Sex Pollen, Theres some tension there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-25 13:46:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30089994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oooopari/pseuds/oooopari
Summary: Din travels to a wealthy planet near unknown regions in order to track a slippery bounty. When a beautiful woman approaches him with information he must partake in the planet's customs before she is able to inform him. Things get interesting when those customs involve consuming a powerful drug.Sex pollen one-shot. I tweaked the pollen a little bit to make it more consensual but fair warning if u don't want to read abt drugs n stuff
Relationships: Din Djarin/Reader, Din Djarin/You, Mandalorian/Reader, Mandalorian/You, The Mandalorian/Reader
Comments: 10
Kudos: 49





	Traditions

Din would do just about anything to find a quarry. It isn’t like they give up and throw themselves at him once they realize their pursuer is a Mandalorian. Not all of them at least. 

No, Din still has to work to catch his targets, even if that work is second nature. His body and mind are a well-oiled machine at this point, falling into routine swiftly no matter the circumstances. There isn’t a single smear to his reputation as a hunter, every bounty he’s been tasked with is brought back with the exact conditions as instructed by the client. 

He doesn’t count the kid on his record.

Still, with the amount of work he has taken on after the fall of Moff Gideon, Din begins to worry that his skills have grown rusty. He knows it’s pretty much bullshit, a difference only perceivable to his mind that has been whipped in place by grueling dedication to his creed. He would probably calculate and compare his heart-rate to other skirmishes. Always the overachiever. 

However, Din’s lack of active practice from the last year he spent looking for Grogu’s family might have actually hampered his usually lightning-fast response time. Being responsible for the kid means that Din had to rearrange his priorities in a manner that has, just a little bit, bumped down his hunting technique down by the tiniest percentile. Really, he should’ve expected this job to be tough, what with the high amount of credits tied to the job and the quarry’s affluent family-name. There have been one too many slip-ups on this job. Too many moments where Din was just a split second too late to catch the information he desperately needs to find this quarry. With that much money, they could buy an excellent hiding spot anywhere... double-edged sword since, in theory, it leaves a paper trail for Din to follow.

The quarry’s last known location was just a sector over, on a desolate little moon called Coroi, the population density so low that Din believed he would come across the target within a day. But the longer he searched the quicker he realized that:

  1. This quarry was not on this planet.
  2. They were far smarter than they looked.



The next logical step was to search the closest planet to the moon, a high society civilization on the planet Doq H’meri, the tourist destination being known for advanced technology and extreme beauty around every corner. Sweeping grass plains dotted with luminescent wildflowers, roaring rivers to break the landscape in two, expensive cities populated by beautiful, humanoid planet natives. He wishes he could show the kid this place, but against his wishes, he left him on Nevarro under the care of Karga to attend lessons at the small school. The chaincode locations were too close to uncharted territories for the child to be safe. But even without the kid, the people here are kind to Din, showing none of the usual fear and shunning that the Mandalorian is used to when visiting affluent cities such as this. 

This is uncharted territory for Din. People are  _ everywhere,  _ the crowd pooling around him so closely that he feels like he’s developing a nervous twitch. There seems to be some kind of event tonight in the city. Every building is lit up by orange and red lanterns, and tall flames flicker behind stained glass. Colorful banners float gently in the air, held up by strikingly dressed men on 15-foot stilts who traverse with surprising ease down the streets. Teens run along stone pathways, dressed in bright robes and giggling hysterically while vendors line the sides of all the busiest roads, selling everything from street food to handmade clothes to children's toys. Din makes a note to pick up a toy for Grogu when he has the chance, but for now, he wants to find the source of these festivities. Perhaps the asset would miss their former life enough to attend a party.

Despite his discomfort around so many people, Din follows the crowd that flocks to a massive, cathedral-like building, with richly dressed party-goers spilling out of all entrances. There seems to be no security at the doors; people come and go as they please from the party although the young ones are ushered away by adults several blocks from the building. Din takes note of this: Gatherings with an age minimum tend to be rougher, what with the higher chance of alcohol and drugs getting involved. 

When he slips into the ballroom the first thing he notices is the expansive arched ceiling of the lavish hall. It would be impossible to not notice since somehow, the host of this party rigged it in a way where it looked like a canopy of sunset clouds, a beautiful blend of warm daylight colors tinged by dusky purples. If it weren’t pitch black outside Din would’ve thought they somehow brought the atmosphere down and isolated it in this room for the attendee’s viewing pleasure. 

The second thing he noticed was the women.

The very picture of elegance. Flowing gowns spun from unknown fabrics drape across their bodies in every color imaginable, gently brushing against the marbled floors as they make their way around the room to mingle with other groups, or refill crystal glasses with a glowing wine at flamboyant drink fountains. There seems to be a central group of highly beautiful women here, every other person fringing the edge of the ballroom is male or presents in a distinctly non-feminine way. Din notices that the women occasionally break off on their own and draw a select suitor to their body, leading them down hallways into darkness. 

Fascinated, Din makes his way up a spiral staircase to observe the crowd from above, not forgetting that he is here to find information on the quarry. It looks to be less crowded up there anyway, a break from stimuli which he is highly grateful for. The balcony is darker than the ground level of the hall, lit only by more of those scarlet lamps hung from archways of circular booths that sit sunken into the wall. Incense smoke drifts up from intricate stone statues depicting tangled lovers in the throes of pleasure, while a smaller version of the ballroom drink fountains shoots sparkling liquid into the air, falling to gather in a basin. There are fewer people up here and the ones who have taken up residence on the balcony are too absorbed with their dates to take notice of the Beskar clad hunter. 

Almost all of them. 

There is one lone girl who stares at him from the dark, clad in gold and clutching a glass of that shimmering wine. She is very pretty, vibrant enough to stand out even under all this opulence. He pretends not to notice her.

The environment is numbing and Din fully expects there to be a catch.

She eventually makes her way silently from her shadowed booth in the wall and stands next to the imposing Mandalorian, peering curiously up at him with a piercing stare. Din doesn’t bother to turn his helmet to acknowledge her. If she has something to say she’ll bring it up eventually, once the pressure of his silence breaks her willful demeanor. Din is very good at letting other people talk and rarely is he blindsided in these situations. 

But when her soft voice trills in his ear, it seems that today is the day for surprises. 

“I know who you’re looking for.”

\------------------------------------------

The whispers reach you long before you see him for yourself.

_ There’s a Mandalorian on our planet. _

The hushed rumor spread swiftly from the second his ship touched down on the lush soil of your home. The eyes of your people are everywhere, never missing a second. Nothing is secret here. There is a reason why you survived the clutches of the Empire unscathed. Today is an exciting day what with the city-wide harvest celebration taking place and the presence of an interesting stranger. 

The mental image of him grew clearer at every sighting, his description gaining more detail with every spotting and interaction.  _ His armor gleams like a sunbeam, the make is new and unscathed. He is broad and muscled yet moves silently, dangerously. He is a weapon.  _

_ A bounty hunter.  _

That last revelation piqued your interest, the detail standing out from the rest of the rumors you’ve heard throughout the day. For one, it gave him a reason for being here, for the children of Mandalore and other warriors never visit your planet. There is no need, you are a peaceful people and your planet lacks resources for war. 

Another reason that stood out is that... you actually have the information he may be looking for. Just maybe, if you’re clever enough… he may trade you for it. You aren’t quite sure what you want from him yet, but you’ll eventually come up with something. You’re not one to be selfless and newcomers bring interesting prospects.

This sense of adventure in your otherwise pristine life excites you. If he hadn’t turned out to be a bounty hunter, you would’ve thought he came for the celebrations or any of the other numerous tourist attractions on your home. The harvest celebrations are a time to celebrate the fertility of the earth and your people, and hormones are at their peak. Long ago the population of your planet was almost wiped out, technological advances coincided with low coupling rates and spikes of infertility. Doq H’meri was only saved once researchers were able to modify the common drug “sex pollen” to grant its user more self-control and boost hormones for insemination and childbearing. Although most adults just use the ceremonies as an excuse to fuck, yourself included. It's easy now that they put the drugs in wine. 

It seems his arrival on the planet only coincidentally coincided with the ceremony. You aren’t sure if this is a good thing for the Mandalorian. Perhaps you should warn him.

When you spy his silhouette, standing unsurely in the entrance of the banquet hall, you find yourself wishing he came for the ceremony. The width of his shoulders is deliciously broad. Your heart rate picks up when he makes his way to your little balcony, moving as if drawn to you even while you hide in the shadowy booth. For a second you wonder if he can read minds and came here to relieve the heat you feel. Pushing the thought away, you stand and adjust your silken gown, pulling your breasts higher on your chest to spill temptingly over the neckline of your bodice. Even if he isn't here for the banquet you can still play up your appearance. Mandalorians are typically human, right? 

Either way, he is a man.

You approach him at the edge of the balcony, looking curiously at the edge of his helm for any gaps of skin that may betray his species. However, his neck is tightly wrapped in a cowl without a single free inch of skin, much to your disappointment. You wonder if he’s warm under all that armor. Maybe you could ask him? No, that doesn’t seem right, it is both not charming and too withholding. Best get right to the point.

“I know who you’re looking for.” You say quietly, breaking the building tension between you and the man in one short sentence. He turns, gripping the balcony railing tightly under his large gloves. You swallow at the sight, transfixed, then raise your eyes to look directly in his visor with a smile.

“What?” The man chokes out, his shocked exclamation left mostly untouched by the helmet's voice modulator. Whoever built the bypass filter somehow managed to keep vocal expressions clear and unwarped by the barrier, a pleasant tone even if he has only said one word. You clear your throat delicately and repeat yourself with a firmer voice than before.

“I know who you’re looking for. A bounty, correct?” You’re sure you’ve given away that H’meri people are far more observant than originally let on, although you don’t know if he’s outright asked anyone about his quarry. But with the fall of his planet, most people tend to expect that Mandalorians stick to the criminal underbelly of the galaxy, hiding their presence by taking dirty jobs in secret. Bounty hunters can be any species under the Maker, but to have the formidable people of Mandalore with the guild is an incredibly valuable asset. You’ve heard of several Mandalorian hunters traveling the galaxy. The job must suit them. 

He hasn’t responded yet, still gripping the railing with a force that makes you nervous for the wood. You point it out dryly. “You know, that's an antique. Built 600 years ago with trees quadruple the age of that railing you’re mangling.”

He drops his hands swiftly to his side and responds, his tone sharper than you expected. “I did not realize I was so obvious.”

“Why else would a Mandalorian visit Doq H’meri? Come sit, it’s far more private in my booth.” Your words come out strong although he is beginning to make you uneasy, what with his powerful body and tendency to remain frustratingly silent. You expected him to be far more thankful for your offer to help but you’re not wanting to be rude. You swallow your feelings on the matter. Travelers tend to be rougher than you’re used to, yourself having grown up privileged enough to avoid war.  _ I must remain open-minded. He has faced more than I can imagine. _

You aren’t surprised when he remains at the balcony for a moment instead of immediately following you. You’re already seated and sipping your drink by the time he unfreezes and accepts your invitation, prowling across the space to sit heavily across from you. 

The drink is taking effect. There are tendrils of warmth that flow between your legs and up your spine, numbing with a tantalizing buzz that softens your nerves. Pulling a glass from where they are stored in the walls of the booth, you indicate that you’re going to fill the flute. He shakes his head politely and waves a hand to reject the drink. 

You frown at this. “It is a strict custom here to drink together before exchanging important information. I have never heard of someone who would deny the pleasure of H’meri wine.” 

“I-Thank you. However, the helmet stays on. I... do not show my face.” His words are halting, slightly tripping over themselves at the last second. He sounds unsure of his reasoning for denying the drink. You aren’t sure what to make of it yourself. Still, you press him; it really  _ is _ unheard of for anyone to deny the customs of your people. Most will famously save up for years to visit your planet and sample the rare, shimmering wine. 

“If you wish, I can draw the curtain on the booth and dim the lights,” you tell him steadily. “If you do not partake in our customs then I am afraid I cannot tell you the information. Let’s try and compromise. ” 

“I could make you tell me.” 

You straighten at this, flushing with emotion. The frustrating throb of arousal shooting through you is accompanied by a shiver of fear. You wish, not for the first time, that you hadn’t drunk so much wine. Tense seconds pass between you. Neither of you moves, waiting for the other to break the silence and determine the direction of your conversation. 

If he fought you, you’re sure to lose. 

However... A fight doesn’t mean you’ll give him the information, you know you’re stubborn enough to withhold it until he gives up and finds an easier way to track his target. And the more you think about it, the more you realize that a fight doesn’t make sense in this situation. You thought it yourself, he isn't guaranteed to get what he wants just by attacking you. The entire planet would turn on him and he’d be hard-pressed to find his bounty. So that means… perhaps he was coming onto you? Do Mandalorians flirt?

Well, if he is then two can play at that game. Stretching in a way that you know is enticing, you squeeze your shoulder blades together while pushing your chest out, the tops of your breasts straining against the thin gold fabric of your bodice for a long moment before you settle back in the booth. You bite your cheek and wait, eyebrows drawn together as you eye his impassive visor. Another pause goes by and-

“Fine. I’ll share a drink with you.” He sounds resigned, settling back in the booth with his knee drawn to his chest, boots dirtying the lush seat beneath him. It is absolutely on purpose. You tut at his rude positioning but stand up anyway, smoothing your skirts with one hand while you make your way to the fountain of wine. Taking note of his tall stature you decide to give him a little extra, nearly filling the glass flute to the rim with the drink. You bend at the waist a little more than necessary to reach the fountain, pushing your hips out to accentuate your ass. As much as he frightens you, you cannot deny the attraction you feel for the towering man. It’s fun to tease someone who hides their face. 

“I must warn you,” you call out to him while making your way back, delicately placing his glass in front of him once you reach the table. “This wine has… special properties.”

You’re just starting to draw the curtains when a large hand grips your wrist, gentle but it is enough to startle you. Gasping, you twist and find yourself face to face with his visor, helmet tilted intimidatingly down at you. 

“What special properties?” His tone is ice cold when he asks- no,  _ demands  _ an explanation. 

You wrench your hand away and quickly fasten the curtains to the wall, effectively shutting off the rest of the party from your meeting with the Mandalorian. That really is the final straw, all this back and forth tension has destroyed your patience for this situation. Your own body is torn, anger simmering low in your stomach while arousal fights against it. Settling in your seat with a huff, you shoot daggers at the man, finding yourself embarrassingly turned on by the way his large fingers circled your wrist with ease.  _ He is so rude, so rough, so… ugh! _

“There was no need to grab me, Mandalorian.” You throw back a gulp of your drink, giving up on table manners since he has decided to be so  _ rude.  _ “I did not  _ poison  _ you if that's what you’re implying. The wine is similar to sex pollen in the way where it warms you, increases blood flow to intimate areas, loosens nerves, et cetera. Only difference is you have more control of yourself as opposed to pure sex pollen. Otherwise, this whole party would be an orgy.” 

He doesn’t say anything in return, instead choosing to sit silently across from you with folded arms. You realize as you observe his stance, testosterone radiating off of him in waves so intense that it’s almost visible. This is a man who never compromises. He never  _ has to.  _ He could very well walk away right now and find his bounty, leaving you blinking in his wake. You probably should’ve understood that at the very second you saw him but, to be fair, you were already slightly spinning from the amount of wine you drank before approaching him. It was foolish to think you could manipulate him. 

There is something here, some other reason for his choice to entertain you, but for once you feel like you’re missing part of the picture. Something you’ve virtually never experienced while growing up in a place so interconnected that it is one step down from a hivemind. The realization is jarring. 

This is… Uncharted territory for you. Charm has always been your weapon of choice. You always kept it near for you to wield in conversation, effectively gaining approval from those around you but more importantly, gaining the upper hand. Make someone laugh and they’ll quickly trust you enough to tell you a secret. People are predictable. Most people, anyway. 

Brushing off the heavy silence, you roll your eyes and reach for his glass, tilting it slightly to sip at the wine. “See? No poison.”

He remains still for a second longer before slowly reaching over to take the glass, turning it over in his gloved hand to examine the liquid. 

“Okay.” He offers nothing more in return but it's enough for you. You stand and open the little glass window on the lamp that illuminates your booth, wetting your fingers on your tongue to snuff the flame. There's an odd noise from the man when you do this but you ignore him, not wanting to deal with more bad manners. 

The flame goes out and blackness fills your vision. 

You settle in your seat, all at once far too aware of the way your breathing puffs audibly in the small space. There is a quiet hissing sound on the Mandalorians side of the table, the hydraulic system releasing as he removes his helmet. It is shockingly intimate- knowing that under this blanket of darkness his face is bare. You’ve heard that some Mandalorians will hide their faces for life, a step up from the ones who wear their armor for more practical purposes. You wonder where he falls. Perhaps even this is against the strictest of rules some of his people follow. 

The sound of sipping breaks through the haze of your thoughts. You focus far too close to the sound of him swallowing his wine. Licking your lips, you attempt to casually continue the conversation. 

“How is the wine?” It comes out raspier than you hoped. 

“It is… very good.” He replies slowly as if savoring the taste of both the wine and his response. His unmodulated voice is lovely. “Thank you. And I apologize.”

“For breaking my wrist?” You counter, adding on a light laugh at the end when you remember that he can’t see your playful expression. Don’t want him to get mad again. 

“Did I hurt you?”

“No!” You assure him quickly. “No, just startled me. I accept the apology.”

The Mandalorian hums in assent and you hear the sighing of leather, he must’ve adjusted in his seat. There is a clicking sound, likely his Beskar against the wall or table and the image of his strong arms stretched across the booth’s backrest immediately fills your imagination. Was that the sound of his vambrace? It would make sense since his helmet is removed. Fuck, your head is spinning.

_ Get it together,  _ you tell yourself.  _ Just finish this drink and you can trade the information.  _

“You must understand,” his voice is gentler than before when he speaks again. “People have tried to kill me all my life. I have to question every move.”

You nod then immediately chastise yourself for not responding verbally. “Yes, I understand that. I am lucky to have escaped war myself but visitors almost always have stories.” 

“You  _ are _ lucky.” He tells you, although not unkindly. A quiet moment falls over the booth, less loaded than one would think. Frontlines or not, the entire galaxy is united by what the Empire has done. In that you and the Mandalorian are alike. You wonder what he is thinking, a little desperate and lost from how  _ different  _ this experience is so far. 

You’ve never met anyone like him.

\------------------------------------------

Din believes he can handle the wine. The girl said it is slightly different from your typical sex pollen, weaker and allowing the user more self-control. He’s been hit by pure sex pollen before, one slippery bounty spiking a dart with the drug and shooting it right at the weak spot on his side. The effects were… Interesting. To say the least. But this was before the kid, so all he had to do was park the Crest on Nevarro and go at himself with his palm. 

For two days straight. 

Still, Din believes he can handle the wine due to how he managed to avoid the Twi’lek healing baths on the volcanic planet. The brothel is open to guild members at all times, many hunters would slip into the enticing building after bringing back their quarry. An easy solution to his problem but he refused to take part. He is a Mandalorian, by his creed he must avoid falling into the pleasures of life that others take for granted. His arm was sore for a week after the experience. 

But being enclosed in this small booth with a beautiful, half-clothed woman, under darkness so suffocating that all his other senses are on fire… this is a different situation entirely. He can't see her. But he can feel her. Only a few feet away from his body, the fabric of her golden dress rubbing against her skin with a soft sound that captivates him. He can picture the curves of her body, her breast, her legs. He had managed to avoid such thoughts up until now, even as she stretched and pushed out the soft swell of her chest in attempts to entice him. He wonders how her tits might feel in his hands. The image won't leave his mind. 

_ Get it together… It is just this one glass... _

\------------------------------------------

As the silence stretches on you realize you are burning up. How many glasses did you toss back today? At least three, fuck. That's toeing the line of overdoing it even if this sex pollen is modified. You still feel like yourself, still in control. But Maker you want this man, you want the icy exterior of him to melt away under your touch, to relieve the tension he holds with your mouth on his cock. You don’t even know where these filthy thoughts come from, it has  _ never  _ been this bad in all the years you’ve taken part in the harvest. Maybe if you talk he’ll drink faster then you can go down to the ballroom floor and take your pick of patrons.

Something tells you that none of them would hold up to the Mandalorian. 

“Um…” You whisper clumsily, wracking your brain for something clever to say. “What should I call you? Just Mando?”

“That works. We traditionally hide our names.”

“Sounds... good.” More wine. The sounds of the party are muffled and hazy through the thick curtain, it puts you in an odd trance-like state when you try to focus too hard. You’re warm, so warm...

“Are you alright?” He asks, voice so low it almost breaks. “You sound different.” 

_ Shit.  _ Your sudden intoxication must be more obvious than you thought, even in the pitch black.  _ Why do bounty hunters have to be so observant?  _ You decide to answer him honestly.  _ “ _ I think I had too much wine.”

To your surprise, he laughs, a sudden sound that nearly makes you jump out of your skin. 

“Me too.” He's still laughing when he tells you that. “Only half the glass.”

Your mouth falls open. “Half? I didn’t even hear you drink it.”

A vibration jostles the table just slightly. He must’ve rested his arm on the surface. Your guess is confirmed when his voice rumbles closer to your face, sounding like he has leaned forward on a supporting palm. “One gulp. You said it was weaker than normal sex pollen? What is this party for and why is everyone drugged?”

It is your turn to laugh. “So many questions now, Mando? Didn’t seem to care before.”

His breath puffs out on your cheek and you jolt back, unaware you were leaning across the table. He is even closer than you thought.

“Now,” he murmurs, “things are more interesting. You did drug me.” 

“Unfortunately for you, we also have our traditions.” Taking a moment to gather your thoughts, you get comfortable in your seat and sip at the wine. Bound by tradition yourself, you need to finish the glass in front of you before ending the encounter. 

After a few seconds, you start your response.

“Doq H’meri has great technological advances but such things come at a cost. Long ago, my people were so focused on creating that we forgot the pleasures of life. Too many worked to their deaths without ever finding friends or creating a family and such, our birth-rate plummeted. Researchers only noticed when a plague swept the population leaving more infertile than dead. They did what they do best and invented a solution; using modified sex pollen, doctors were able to boost hormone levels to reverse infertility. Now we hold this celebration once a year to drink the pollen, both for pleasure and to ensure fertility. It is useful for birth control. If you skip a year as an adult then you remain unable to procreate until the next harvest.”

During your lengthy explanation, you’ve leaned closer to the bounty hunter. It doesn’t feel out of place so you decide to scoot around the curve of the seat to be even nearer. Mando audibly gulps then sips his wine again. 

“Why do I have to drink with you? For your information, I mean.”

You laugh at his awkward phrasing, amused rather than hurt. “Old fashioned politeness. You just happened to be on Doq H’meri during the one week where our wine is spiked. Otherwise, it would be comparable to the drinks of Alderaan.” Your eyes have adjusted enough to make out his outline, so you reach out and pat his forearm jovially. 

“Just your luck, Mando.”

Leather kisses the top of your hand as he rests a heavy palm on your knuckles, sending fire up your arm and down into your belly where it pools there with a deep ache. You’re instantly sweating under his touch, the temperature in your little booth feeling like it has spiked significantly. This is the sex pollen at work, you  _ know that,  _ you’ve spent so many fucking years consuming the drug that it is as familiar to you as the haze of cheap Spotchka. Somehow the presence of this warrior has changed everything. You’ve never tried normal pollen but you’re guessing it feels more like  _ this,  _ uncontrollable desire sparking along your nervous system in a way that leaves you panting. 

“Just my luck.” He replies, his voice seeming deeper than ever before. You’re so close now, able to scoot over just slightly to place your body alongside his. It is strange, even in the dark you can feel exactly how large his body is next to yours and it isn’t only due to your mind's eye. There is something primal about you being with him here in the dark, something that makes your base senses spring to life and quicken you. The Mandalorian holds himself rigidly to the side, thrumming with stored kinetic energy similar to a predator about to burst into motion. 

His fingers begin to trail up your forearm, sending tremors through your body.

“I think this drink is quite strong.” You gasp, eyes widening at the breathiness in your voice.

“Is it?” He asks, sounding genuine. The fingers pause in their path. “Are you feeling alright? You are the expert.”

“I feel- I feel okay.” You swallow and continue. “I don’t have much left.”

“I’ll stop.” Mandos' hand leaves your arm and your heart jumps in dismay, your hand reaching out to clutch his and bring it back to your skin.

You yelp, body genuinely aching at the thought of him no longer touching you. “No! No, it's okay. Just one more sip.” 

This is okay, you  _ want this.  _ You realize now that you aren’t out of control due to the drug. Any desperation you feel is because you want  _ him,  _ and you’d still want him stone-cold sober. The sex pollen just enhances everything ten-fold. His glove on your arm may as well be stroking your clit from the way it makes you feel, all feverish and tied to him, like the touch of that glove is the only sensation in existence. 

“One more sip.” He rumbles, his upper body moving just slightly while his hand resumes its gentle path. You hear him take another gulp of the wine, close to your head now that you’re nearly pressed together, every inch of your side on fire just by being in such close proximity with his body. “This conversion ends when we finish our drinks, correct?”

“Y-yes. After I exchange my information.”

“Hm…” More sipping. Your stomach sinks, concluding that he must have decided to speed up the process. 

Just as you reach for your drink you feel the touch of his glove travel up your bicep and over your collarbone, settling just at the swell of your heaving tits. You freeze and the glove leaves you, coming back a second later to slide under the top of your gown, sending flares of pleasure down your spine. Gasping, you arch into his hand as he cups your breast and it takes a second for you to realize his hand is bare, the flesh unnaturally warm even when you account for the layers that cover his body. 

“Now I have one more sip as well,” he rasps, voice leaning in until you can feel the gentle breath ghost over your face. “We can’t leave this booth until the wine is gone.” 

“No, we can’t… it would be rude.” You respond slyly, a huge grin spreading over your face.

You’re soaking wet by now, slickness pooled at the apex of your legs as you try to control your clenching muscles. The Mandalorians hand is down your top massaging at the soft flesh there, your flushed skin warming his vambrace as it drapes over your collar. A squeak leaves your mouth when he pinches your nipple between two fingers and you flail a bit, trying to turn yourself to face him in your seat. 

“Are you wet, pretty girl? Fuck, I- I want to feel.” 

All you can do is whine and spread your legs in response to his slurred questions, the pollen blazing in your core, sinfully urging you to throw aside all pretenses and just  _ fuck him,  _ screw that fucking bounty, screw your planets traditions _.  _ It's hard though, in this booth you can’t quite turn your bodies enough to reach each other and you can't stand settling for awkwardly pawing at each other when you could be  _ consumed.  _

Apparently, the Mandalorian can’t stand it either. 

His hand wrenches away from your body, the fabric of your gown snapping back haphazardly, leaving one nipple bare just before he scoops you up with both arms and deposits you onto the table. Both his gloves are gone now and you can feel just how artificially hot his skin is, sex pollen coursing through both of you and eating you alive. Your clit is throbbing at how easily he maneuvered your weight, picking you up as casually as one picks up a blaster. 

The bounty hunter places his palms on both of your knees and pulls them apart, your slick audibly making a wet noise so obscene that you blush. Mando groans as if it were the most beautiful sound in the galaxy.

“I wish I could see your pretty pussy. I- _ Shit _ , pretty girl, I’m burning up, I can’t…” He’s in between your legs now, trembling voice level with your waist as he babbles on and on about how much he wants to touch, taste you, feel you- all the filth you’ve heard before from other lovers but never before have they hit you so hard. Sex was  _ fun  _ before. This feels excessive in all the right ways. 

“You can touch me,” you blurt, spreading your legs even farther as a painful spasm shudders across your pelvic floor. “Please, please, please touch me- it hurts when you aren’t touching me.”

The Mandalorian obliges and you feel like you’re going to explode. It is nearly agonizing when he drags one finger up your slit, pressing and manipulating your lips as he feels the shape of you. Any previous sounds of your combined panting and moaning have been sucked out of the small room, the both of you sitting in stasis as he explores your throbbing pussy. 

Mandos' choked voice breaks through the spell, his fingers sliding down to your soaking entrance and swirling. “This is… are you always this wet? How are you so  _ warm?”  _

His thick finger sinks down to the hilt without warning and you cry out, falling from your perch on your wrists down to your forearms, elbows slamming on the table. But you don’t even feel the thud, all you can feel is him inside of you, pressing onto some mind-numbing piece of you that sends sparks right to your clit. A second finger joins the first and- _ fuck,  _ you’re drooling a bit. It's so uncharacteristic of you that the rational part of your mind takes note; how the fuck is he doing this to you? You’re the one who is supposed to be experienced with sex pollen yet this gorgeous stranger has managed to wring you dry within an hour of meeting him. 

“Hnng- Mando, please I want more, please-” His fingers pump lazily in and out of your hole, still bouncing off of that white-hot spot that sends stars across your vision. Mandos other hand is gripping your thigh with enough force to hurt but oh, the hurt feels so good. 

“I want-” he grunts, pumping his fingers deep inside of you over and over again. “I want to taste you.”

“I…” You’re torn, unable to weigh the two options fairly in your muddled mind. Of course, you want him to eat you out but the thought of his cock filling you, his cuirass pressing against your taunt nipples as he fucks you on the table… You truly have no fucking clue what to choose. “Uhhh...”

Mando doesn’t give you a chance to choose, curling his fingers upwards to press into your g-spot, wiggling back and forth over that blinding inch of heaven within you until you’re shaking uncontrollably. His fingers leave your pussy, your walls painfully empty and spasming, then you hear the clacking of metal plates and a  _ plop  _ noise from his mouth. Before you can work out what is happening his mouth meets yours and you taste yourself on him. Your legs part even farther around his thighs as he pushes his hips in to grind against your pussy, the underside of his naked cock pressing into your folds. You breathe him in as he groans into your mouth, rutting against you roughly as he presses your back into the table. 

“Do-Don’t knock the wine over. I-I’ll have to fill the glass again and finish it before we can leave. Traditions.” You warn, pulling away from his mouth for a moment and whispering along his jaw.

“Doesn’t sound like an issue,” he replies shortly. You can feel his cock pulsing at your slit, the swollen head sliding up and bumping the hood of your clit with every short thrust. Just that stimulation alone is blinding, hurtling you to the edge of an orgasm even before being fucked or properly touched. Was there something wrong with the sex pollen this year? In-between bursts of pleasure you strain your ears to try and listen to what is going on outside the booth, half thinking the party has erupted into orgy but no, everything sounds normal out there. Muffled and hazy but normal. All this does is reaffirm the chemistry you have with the bounty hunter, sexual compatibility so harmonious that it feels like you were meant for this,  _ waiting  _ for this.

Maybe it is the sex pollen warping your thoughts but you find yourself thinking that this, right here, this moment was meant to happen. Maker, anyone you fuck after Mando is going to pale in comparison. It’s like he strung up every expectation you’ve held for lovers and completely fucking obliterated them, going down the line with explosives then sending their fragments to the stars. 

“Just one more sip. We can’t-  _ stars _ , can’t leave anyway.” You say breathlessly, more to yourself than to Mando. 

Growling deep in his throat and reaching between your bodies, he grasps his cock, running the head through your folds before pressing at your opening. There is a second where only the head breaches inside of you, pulsing and twitching as you break open slowly… then he grunts and  _ slams  _ into you, knocking your head against the wood with the force of his thrust. The breath is knocked out of your lungs so all you can manage is a high-pitched mewl as you claw at his cape and hair wildly. 

The pollen must’ve gotten the best of him because Mando does not hold back, he seems unable to stop for even a second to allow you the chance to breathe. His thrusts are short and heavy, fat cock sliding out of you barely halfway before he shoves back in. 

You’re trying desperately to keep the noise down, biting into the fleshy part of your palm in an attempt to absorb your scream. The bounty hunter follows suit and buries his jaw into the crook of your neck, whispering obscenities into your skin as he kisses the curve of muscle there. 

“Fuck, you take me so f-fucking well,  _ Maker,  _ I wanted to fuck you the moment I saw you, pretty girl- your fucking tits in this dress was all I could think about, I-” His voice has raised in volume and you’re desperately trying to shush him, knowing that the sound of the table rocking will alert the neighboring booths. It isn’t unheard of to fuck at one of these parties but you do have a reputation to uphold. 

But, shit- do you even want him to stop? His words hit you right in the gut, each curse that leaves his lips sends a flash of pleasure into your stomach, twisting there so heated and dark and,  _ oh Maker, you’re going to cum. _

His cock pounds you even harder as you clench around him, so close but not quite able to let go. It’s almost like your body is terrified of the drop, the sheer euphoria too daunting for it to actually happen without ripping you to shreds. But Mando makes that decision for you by grabbing both of your thighs roughly and hooking them around his shoulders while still pounding you deeply, the new angle hitting a place in your cunt that literally fucking blinds you.

White flashes under your eyelids as you erupt into ecstasy, shudders wracking your hips while you grind into his thrusts. Even your ears ring and you feel out of breath, the power of your orgasm is unparalleled to any you’ve had before. That smug voice of reason tells you again that it is the  _ pollen _ , that you’ve finally lost whatever grasp you had on your pristine image within your community. But you don’t give a fuck, and when you come down all you want is more of him. 

“M-More…” You beg brokenly, your pussy still so hot and sensitive after cumming so hard. You still don’t feel satisfied, pounding weakly on his cuirass but not wanting him to  _ ever  _ stop, all the desperation for his cock has only increased tenfold like you are a starved woman put before a feast. Pressing yourself into his hips so that he reaches the deepest parts of you- and fuck, that ignites a spark right where you need it- you roll your hips and whisper more vulgar thoughts into his ear. 

Maker, you wish you could see him. You want to know if he has followed you down this path of depravity, if he has lost himself as well. It might not even be due to the pollen, after all you’ve  _ never  _ felt this good. Finding the words to ask him is hard though, he’s holding you down firmly enough to squeeze some of the air out of your lungs so all you can do is focus on breathing and how he feels inside of you. 

“ _ Stars,”  _ he grits, your lower muscles fluttering around him repeatedly. “K-Keep doing that and I’ll-” 

He can’t hold himself back as he buries himself into the deepest recesses of your pussy and pulses hot within you before wrenching himself free and spurting cum on your inners thighs and labia, ropes of his pleasure surely hitting the skirt of your dress. The Mandalorian is panting above you, his face hovering right above your own and he’s so close you could just… 

A large hand grips your jaw and holds you in place, softs lips lowering themselves to fit against yours. A bit of scratchy facial hair rubs at your face, a sensation that is normally annoying but this time around you crave the feeling. His tongue brushes against your lower lip and you meet it with your own, kissing him deeply and fervently as the still-burning fire within you is stoked once more. 

“Fuck, you’re still hard?” You ask, tearing away from his mouth reluctantly. His cock is brushing against your thigh still as solid as durasteel. 

“Yes, I… The pollen.” He rasps shortly, voice sounding as strained as when you first approached him at the balcony rail. “We should stop, but-”

“Wait.” You cut him off, arms floundering around on the table until you find both of the crystal wine flutes, holding the glass carefully to avoid dropping them. “Finish your drink, hunter.”

Mando doesn’t respond, resting his forehead against yours for a second then pushing himself upright, taking one of the glasses from you and throwing it back with an audible gulp. You do the same, shuddering at the sensation of the drug sliding down your throat. Your body immediately flushes when it recognizes that it is being fueled with more pollen, your lower muscle cramping painfully as your temperature rises and the haze returns. 

Mando clears his throat and you jump, sitting at the edge of the table with the man between your legs. “I suppose you tell me about my bounty now.” He says hesitantly.

You giggle. “He’s here. There are private rooms reserved for this sort of thing and every night of the harvest he finds one and drags no less than two lovers in after him.”

The Mandalorian stiffens, hands coming down to your knees and griping them tightly in surprise. “He’s here? Do you know which room exactly?”

You hum, a vicious smile curling the corner of your lips. The Mandalorian can’t see you but you sense that he suspects something more is going on, especially when those large hands travel back up your sides and hold your arms together firmly at your ribs. 

“Well?” He demands, not all too kindly.

“Well,” you drawl, licking at the corner of your mouth and leaning forward until your lips are just brushing against his. “I may have a little more than a sip left. And it seems that…”

Your glass is sitting right at your side, near enough that you can reach out and knock it over with a fingertip, the crystal material clanging sharply against the wood.

“It seems that I’ve spilled.”

**Author's Note:**

> mandalorewhore.tumblr.com


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